


Consilii optime facti

by FoxNonny



Series: gra - dilseacht - cairdeas [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, I didn't even know that was a tag but ayo, M/M, Mahanon likes to live dangerously, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, also; a surprising amount of feelings, and overtones, and whole tones to be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny
Summary: After several weeks away, Dorian finally returns to Skyhold only to be faced with a mountain of work to get through before he can properly reunite with his lovers. Mahanon is not happy about this, and comes up with a very bad idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing in the style of naming stories in this series in the language of the dominant POV, the title is very hacked up and butchered latin for "Best Laid Plans" because; puns.
> 
> For GrimSister, because I promised I'd write this, and because we've been chatting about the wonders of under-desk blowjobs for a while now.

Dorian once heard a curious Ferelden saying; something about how the plans of men and small furry creatures alike often get utterly fucked. Not quite the verbatim phrasing, but when the phrase is brought to mind, that's usually how Dorian thinks of it.

In the Inquisition, that phrase happens to come to mind a _lot_.

Take today, for instance. Dorian travelled hard yesterday, sleeping late and waking up very early, all so he might return to Skyhold by early afternoon in the hopes that he might spend the rest of the day with Mahanon, or Bull, preferably both (though he would never confess to having been so eager, to having pushed himself past the point of exhaustion to return). It was with these hopes in mind that he burst into the main hall of Skyhold, and found himself faced with a minor dilemma: Continue onwards to find Mahanon (likely cloistered with Josephine and Leliana in arduous training for the upcoming event in Orlais, or quietly ploughing through mountains of paperwork in his room - he tended to train with his Knight-Enchanter instructor in the mornings and so was unlikely to be found outside in the afternoons), or retire briefly to his quarters to wash and change out of his riding leathers. 

Dorian chose the latter, which turned out to be a mistake. 

No, the mistake wasn't taking the time to make himself presentable before finding Mahanon; the mistake was cutting through the library on his way back to the main hall. That was when he was suddenly accosted by Rolan, a secretary librarian with a pile of reports regarding Venatori magic and arcana that needed cross-referencing _right away, immediately_. 

So Dorian was forced to put aside his carefully laid plans of finding Mahanon or Bull and whiling away a lazy end of week afternoon with a slow and easy fuck, preferably followed by a very long nap, and instead found himself holed up at his desk in his little corner of the library, staring at terribly written reports by Inquisitorial scouts and soldiers who seemed to think every unknown artifact was a Venatori explosive device in disguise, and trying very hard not to start banging his head against his desk in despair. 

He's an hour in and halfway through his fourteenth report that yields absolutely nothing of note whatsoever, save for the amusing revelation that many Fereldens seem not to know what red peppers are, when a slight figure rounds the bookcase sectioning off Dorian's little workspace. Dorian looks up, and finds himself smiling.

_Broadly. Obviously. Maker, but he doesn't care._

"I heard you were back," Mahanon says, leaning against the bookcase and grinning at Dorian, looking utterly delighted to see him. It's not an expression Dorian's used to seeing on many people's faces. 

The Inquisitor looks... well, quite honestly, there's a great many things Dorian could say about his looks. He isn't handsome or beautiful by the statuesque standards set for human men that Dorian is used to seeing back home, nor does he embody the ethereal, aloof beauty Dorian was raised to expect from elves, coupled with rumours of Mahanon's people having a penchant for dancing in the moonlight and communing with trees and flowers through songs. 

No, Mahanon has a cheery, open earthiness to his countenance - a crooked nose, a scar on his chin, freckles speckling his dark skin and enormous glinting eyes that betray his every thought. He's short and skinny and his hair is nothing short of disastrous, but Maker if he doesn't make Dorian's heart race just by looking upon him. Maker if he isn't the most beautiful man Dorian's ever known. 

"I have been granted a visit by the most grand and noble Inquisitor himself, have I?" Dorian says, leaning back in his chair and setting his quill aside (halfway through writing the sentence " _try taking a bite out of it_ " in his reply to the confused and frightened Ferelden forces). "I'm honoured."

"Oh, shush," Mahanon says, crossing around the desk and placing a hand over Dorian's where it lies on a spare piece of parchment, his eyes very soft and warm. "I've missed you."

"Really? I hardly thought of you," Dorian murmurs, tracing his thumb over Mahanon's forefinger. "No, I certainly didn't spend long nights alone very much wishing I had a sweet and sinfully appealing elf at my side. Not even once."

It's an easy enough thing, voicing pretty words and watching as the pleased flush of delight rises in Mahanon's cheeks and long ears. Easy enough to say that, than to say that it wasn't just the warmth of Mahanon's presence he missed, or the pleasure of Mahanon's mouth and hands and every last inch of him.

Easy enough not to give voice to something he knows he feels; for Mahanon, for Bull. It's still far too dangerous, too sharp and too risky, to dare to say aloud.

"I'd hoped you'd come find me to rescue me from, Creators preserve me, _deportment lessons_ ," Mahanon says, with a visible and clearly heartfelt shudder. "I don't understand why humans have so many damned rules about cutlery, Dorian, I really don't. Why the fuck would anyone need more than one fork?"

Dorian laughs and pushes his chair back a little, his heart battering at his ribs as Mahanon takes this opportunity to sit down and curl himself up in Dorian's lap. "You can't eat your dinner with a salad fork, Mahanon, that's a crime against the Maker."

Mahanon leans back against Dorian's armrest with a huff, draping an arm easily over Dorian's shoulder. "The solution there would be to eat your salad with a dinner fork, would it not?"

"No, _that_ is pure and utter madness," Dorian says. "In fact, I believe that's a capital offence in Val Royeaux."

"Is not."

"It is. They'll cut your head clean off for it, and then where would we be?"

"I am absolutely willing to die for the cause of sensible cutlery usage," Mahanon says passionately, a quirk of his lip betraying his sincerity. "I well and truly believe that humans could make a sport out of overcomplicating things. _Mythal'enaste_ , you have different bows depending on the rank and occupation of every human lord you meet! I was just beginning to get a handle on _titles_."

"You're the Lord Inquisitor, my dear, that gives you a certain amount of leverage," Dorian says, letting his arm come to rest around Mahanon's waist as he lifts a slim elven hand to his lips to press a kiss against scarred and calloused knuckles. It is, of course, utterly reckless to be doing this in the library, where anyone could round the corner at any moment to find the Inquisitor entwined with Skyhold's resident Tevinter pariah, but it's utterly worth it for the way Mahanon's eyes widen and his lips curve into a shy smile, seeming to forget his vexation regarding human diplomacy. "Everyone will want you to think well of them, so if at any point you aren't sure what to do, just lift your nose and give them a withering look. They'll trip over themselves to apologize."

"I can do annoyed, and I can do very angry, but I'm not sure about withering," Mahanon says, as Dorian lowers his hand and twines their fingers together. 

"I'm sure Vivienne can teach you the most withering of looks imaginable," Dorian says, and sighs. "Damn."

"What?"

"You make it very difficult, you know," Dorian says, biting back a smile as Mahanon raises his eyebrows at him. "Here I am, with a perfectly handsome elf in my lap who claims to have missed me, and all I want to do is abscond with said elf to a private place where we might discuss the matter of each other's absence in much more detail, with far less clothing."

"What's stopping you?" Mahanon murmurs, leaning up to press his lips to the corner of Dorian's mouth. "Maybe the elf is perfectly amenable to being absconded with."

"I have no doubt that that is the case," Dorian says, squeezing Mahanon's hand. "Very tragically, however, I've been employed by the Inquisition to deal with an absolute fuckton of reports this afternoon, the brunt of which have no bearing on anything or useful information to be gleaned from their pages."

"Rolan again?" Mahanon murmurs sympathetically, letting out a frustrated " _ugh_ " as Dorian nods. "Surely you won't be faulted for taking a break? You did just return this morning. You could- oh, you could say I called you to my room for an urgent matter."

"Darling, if I were to say that aloud to _anyone_ , it would be less subtle than outright telling them I'm abandoning my duties to have a sordid affair with the grand Lord Inquisitor."

"I'm hardly _grand_ ," Mahanon protests. "I still don't think I count as a 'Lord,' either. But if they're going to give me a title and throw me to the wolves of the Winter Palace, I should be allowed to have _some_  privileges when it comes to freeing you from your work, at least for a little while."

"That would be showing favouritism."

"Would that be so bad?" Mahanon says, laying his palm against Dorian's cheek, his thumb tracing Dorian's lower lip (and there's such a sense of honesty in how Mahanon touches Dorian - curiosity over seduction, touching without any trace of performance). "After all, you _are_ my favourite."

It's close, very close, to something larger than Dorian is ready to admit, something he sees in Mahanon's eyes every time he looks at him that takes his breath away, threatens to overwhelm; so Dorian doesn't answer, but holds Mahanon closer and kisses him properly, savouring the soft warmth of Mahanon's mouth, the way his breath hitches like he still isn't used to this. Dorian's sure neither of them are used to this. He doesn't know if the revelation of one another's lips will ever stop taking both of them by surprise. 

Mahanon trails his lips down over Dorian's chin, brushing teasing kisses to the line of Dorian's neck, and while this frees his mouth it does absolutely nothing for the rapidly swelling... well, _problem_  in his trousers. 

"I really should get at least half of this done," Dorian says weakly, shivering as he feels the points of Mahanon's sharp teeth press dangerously against his throat. "Or he'll come back with a larger stack tomorrow just to fuck with me, you _know_  he will."

"But _I_ want to fuck with you," Mahanon murmurs, leaning up to whisper these words into Dorian's ear, and sweet _fuck._  He knows Mahanon wasn't lying when he said he was a virgin when he first took Bull and Dorian to his bed, but apparently he's one hell of a fast learner. "'Grand Lord Inquisitor,' and all. I could show you how very much I missed you."

"Very, _very_ difficult," Dorian says, with feeling, as Mahanon pulls back just enough to look up at him with those stupidly big eyes of his. "You really do. You're a menace. Something should really be done about you."

"Something definitely should," Mahanon says, with a quirked grin, and _Maker_ , that definitely doesn't help.

Then his eyes suddenly light up, like he's thought of something brilliant, and Dorian knows this can't mean anything good.

"Alright, you have to work, which is good and noble of you to do," Mahanon says, sliding out of Dorian's lap. Then, because he clearly wants to give Dorian a damned _heart attack_ , he sinks to his knees in front of Dorian's chair. "You continue working up there, and I'll work down here. It's a compromise."

" _Are you mad?_ " Dorian whispers incredulously, even as his heart starts to beat very fast indeed, his half-hard cock now pressing obviously at the front of his pants at the sight of this _clearly insane_  elf kneeling before him, even leaning forward to fold his arms over Dorian's knees, looking downright amused at the sight of Dorian's flustering. "If anyone turned that corner - _which anyone could_  - and found the damned _Herald of Andraste_  on- on his knees for a fucking Tevinter Altus-"

"I'll hide under the desk," Mahanon murmurs back, as if this were perfectly obvious. "And you'll just have to be very quiet then, won't you?"

Dorian is going to kill him. He's absolutely going to _kill_  him. 

"I'll tell Bull," he hisses, though he does nothing to stop Mahanon as he pulls him a little closer, starting to untie the front of Dorian's trousers, thin fingers brushing against him through the cloth in horribly teasing, tantalizing ways. "I'll tell him and he'll- he'll help me think up some manner of revenge."

Mahanon shivers a little, clearly aroused by the very notion, and Dorian's perfectly aware he chose the wrong negotiating tack because... well, quite honestly, he doesn't _really_ want Mahanon to stop. "I'm prepared to accept the consequences of my actions, so long as I get to have you in my mouth _right now_."

Dorian's arousal fucking _jumps_  at that, and he can tell by Mahanon's delighted grin that he felt the movement through the cloth of Dorian's now-exposed smalls.

"You know, there's something to be said for _plausible deniability-_ " Dorian says, only to be interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of footsteps approaching his corner.

He scrambles back, hoping beyond _hope_  they have time to get Mahanon out from under the desk and in a far less compromising position, only to bite back a yelp as Mahanon hauls his chair forward, disappearing entirely under the heavy oak.

There isn't a lot of room down there. Mahanon's wedged right between his legs, and he can feel Mahanon's hands in his lap still, even as - of fucking course - fucking _Rolan_  rounds the corner with another stack of reports. 

"Forgot to add these ones," he says gruffly, dropping the pile on Dorian's already-cluttered desk. He frowns, bushy grey eyebrows drawing together over stern little eyes. "Were you talking to someone just now?"

"Was I?" Dorian says casually, feeling Mahanon bury his face in Dorian's thigh to muffle his laughter and gently kicking him as subtly as he can. "I don't think I was."

Rolan scowls. "Thought I heard voices."

"Oh dear, that isn't usually a good sign," Dorian says. "Thank you, if that's all-?"

"Of course it isn't 'all,' I've got to brief you on this, haven't I?" Rolan says.

Dorian is about to respond with - oh, something sharp and witty, to be sure - only to choke off into an unconvincing cough as he feels Mahanon run the tip of his finger over Dorian's smallclothes. _Oh, don't you fucking dare._

"Proceed," he says, and clearly both Rolan and Mahanon take this as an invitation, because as Rolan starts to speak, Mahanon starts to ease Dorian's cock out from his smallclothes.

Unfortunately for Dorian, even the sight of Rolan standing directly in front of him isn't enough to soften him. In fact, something about this horrifically indecent bit of foolishness has him - certain parts of him - very excited, because clearly Mahanon's insanity is catching. 

It doesn't help, that Dorian's had nothing but his own hand to ease the frustration of weeks without Mahanon or Bull, waking up from dreams of Bull pinning him to his mattress and fucking him hard, dreams of Mahanon pressing himself against Dorian and asking for more, _please, more_ , moaning Dorian's name like it's the only word he knows-

Yes, all that, and now finally, _finally_ , he has Mahanon's hand wrapped around him, still so gentle but far less hesitant, still treating his cock like it's something utterly precious, and all he can do about it is clench his fists and hold his breath to stave off the moan caught in his throat. 

"We think the Venatori got access to some Elvhen artifacts," Rolan drones, thankfully oblivious to Dorian's torment. "Our field arcanologists are having problems combatting their most recent inventions, as there appear to be..."

Dorian is half-listening, and then he isn't listening at all, instead casually moving his hand to cover his mouth as he feels the slow, easy slide of Mahanon's lips around his cock, sucking gently on the tip before moving forward again, tongue gently laving under the head.

Dorian is going to die here, in his chair. Either he's going to die trying not to move or make any sound, die after being discovered with his cock in the Lord Inquisitor's mouth and promptly executed for corrupting the Herald of Andraste, or he's simply going to die from how fucking _good_  it feels, the warmth of Mahanon's mouth and the gentle, teasing suckling of his lips as his tongue does things that Dorian's fairly certain the elf learned from him-

He realizes, belatedly, that Rolan has stopped talking, and is now staring at him expectantly.

"Alright, thank you, I'll look into it," Dorian says, sounding remarkably calm to his own ears given the circumstances. Maybe a little breathless. He can feel his cheeks heating, though, and knows he's probably going red as a damned apple even as he feels one of Mahanon's slim hands slip into his smallclothes to start teasing at his balls. "I-is there anything else?"

Rolan blinks slowly, and says, "The Dalish."

"What about them?"

"I asked you if you could talk to the Lord Inquisitor about them just now."

"Oh. I suppose I misheard. Talk to him about what, exactly?"

"Well, they're wanting those artifacts back. The ones we took from the Venatori. Only they're ancient Elvhen, so it's not like they're really _theirs_ , you know?"

"I- _ack_ ," Dorian says, a little strangled, as Mahanon's grip on his cock tightens suddenly. Rolan frowns, and Dorian clears his throat to cover for the sound. "I don't see why we can't just give them back. I'm certain the Dalish would be far better informed as to how to handle them than we would."

He's rewarded for this by a long, tight stroke of Mahanon's hand over his cock, Mahanon pressing soft kisses to the head before swirling his tongue around the tip, forcing Dorian to bite back a whimper. 

Rolan is still frowning at him. "Be that as it may, _we've_  got those artifacts now, and we've got to study them if we've any hope of figuring out what the Venatori are doing with them. We can't do that if we've got Dalish crawling out of the woodwork to complain about it all the livelong day, can we?"

Predictably, this results in Mahanon biting down, very gently, with his sharp teeth - not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to convey his annoyance. 

_I'm not the one saying it_ , Dorian thinks desperately, aware that he is very much stuck between a rock and a hard place at this moment. While he sees the value in keeping the artifacts for the Inquisition to study, he's wise enough to know not to disagree with the very sweet, very pretty elf currently threatening to bite his dick off if he does. 

"I'm not sure if ' _crawling out of the woodwork_ ' is an appropriate way to describe the Lord Inquisitor's people," Dorian says coolly, because that little quip _did_  genuinely annoy him and it's a good place to start. "My suggestion, and I'm confident Ma- erm, Lavellan will agree with me, is that we return the artifacts to the Dalish as a goodwill gesture, and work with them to analyze how the Venatori might have been using them."

The teeth retreat, and Dorian releases a little sigh that's dangerously close to a moan as Mahanon's lips and tongue return to soothe the bite. 

Rolan looks utterly unimpressed with Dorian's little speech, folding his arms. "Look, you may be close with the Inquisitor and all, but I very much doubt you've got the authority to speak for him. I'd suggest putting that friendship to good use to see if you can't secure us the artifacts, yeah?"

Dorian has to bite back a borderline hysterical little laugh at that. _Right. Yes. Very "close friends" indeed._

"I'll talk to him, but I doubt you'll receive a different answer from him," Dorian says, and he can hear his own voice going noticeably tight as Mahanon takes him as far into his mouth as he can, slowly sucking him off and _damn it_ , he can feel himself trembling a little at the sensation. "Um, n-not to chase you off or anything, but I do have a lot of- _ah_ \- work to do."

Rolan makes a disgruntled noise at this, and moves to turn away, only to crush Dorian's hopes and dreams by pausing and staring at him far, far too analytically. "You feeling alright, Pavus? You look a little- I don't know. Feverish, maybe."

He can _feel_  Mahanon shaking between his legs, clearly trying not to laugh out loud, and Dorian is absolutely going to _kill_  him. 

"I _have_  been on the road for the past t-two days," Dorian says, with as much lofty irritableness as he can muster even as Mahanon does something _terribly_ good with his tongue that causes him to stumble over his words. "I wouldn't be surprised if I picked something up-" he swallows a gasp "-along the way."

Rolan stares at him for another long moment, then shakes his head. "Alright, well, get what you can done, and see a healer if you've got to. I'd rather you didn't get the other librarians sick."

"Y-you're too kind," Dorian rasps. 

Then, to his utter, _utter_  relief, Rolan makes another irritated little noise and _goes the fuck away._

He waits until Rolan is well past the line of bookshelves sheltering this little alcove before he releases another long-held breath, hot and flustered and _so fucking close._  He leans down to hiss indignantly at Mahanon. 

" _You-_ Maker, you _absolute-_ "

What Mahanon is, he doesn't manage to say, as Mahanon wraps his lips tight around him and sucks him with a long, low moan that vibrates through his heated and desperately sensitive skin. Dorian arches back helplessly in his chair, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his gasps as he comes, shuddering through his finish as Mahanon coaxes him with his lips, hands, and tongue, swallowing everything Dorian gives him and licking him clean. 

Dorian still has his palm clasped over his mouth as Mahanon tucks him back into his smallclothes, ties up the front of his trousers, and pushes his chair back enough so he can climb out from under the desk, looking far too damned _pleased_  with himself. Dorian just stares at him.

"Was that alright?" Mahanon murmurs quietly, leaning in close and gently prying Dorian's hand away from his mouth, eyes dancing with mirth but also undeniably heated. "It seems like you rather enjoyed yourself, hmm?"

It's the teasing that does it.

In seconds, Dorian is out of his chair and pinning Mahanon hard against the bookshelf, a hand around the back of his head and another gripping his slim waist. Mahanon only moans very softly at this, arching against him, and despite how much he wants to _throttle_  him, Dorian finds himself kissing Mahanon deeply, tasting himself on Mahanon's tongue as Mahanon gasps into his mouth and wraps his arms tight around him, clearly aching for more. 

In fact, he can feel the hard line of Mahanon's arousal through his leggings, covered by the long hem of his tunic as Mahanon rolls his hips against him. He takes Mahanon's hips in both hands, pressing him back against the shelf.

" _Dorian-_ " Mahanon protests, his need audible in his breathless voice.

"No, no; see, you have been a _very bad_  little elf, haven't you?" Dorian murmurs, grinning as Mahanon whimpers. "I did warn you, you know."

Mahanon leans forward for a kiss, making a small, frustrated little noise as Dorian briefly brushes his lips against Mahanon's, then pulls away. "What do you want?"

"Well, I'd suggest you retreat to your little tower, and wait for me to finish here," Dorian says softly. "Then I plan to find Bull, and together we'll figure out what it is we're going to do with you. How does that sound?"

Mahanon melts a little under Dorian's words, eyes wide and eager, even as he says, "It sounds very mean."

"Did I mention it would be cheating if you were to, ah,take care of yourself before we've had our fun? Because it would be."

"Very, _very_ mean."

"I did warn you."

"You did." Mahanon smiles, leaning up for another kiss, and this time Dorian doesn't deny him. 

In fact, Dorian's very close to ruining the whole game and sliding his hand into Mahanon's leggings just to watch the elf come apart for him, when they both hear the unmistakeable sound of footsteps approaching their little corner once more.

They spring apart from one another, quickly adjusting clothes and fixing hair just in time for fucking _Rolan_  to round the bookshelf once more.

"I forgot to mention-" Rolan stops dead at the sight of Mahanon, clearly thrown. "My Lord Inquisitor. Where in the blazes did you come from?"

Mahanon arches an eyebrow. " _Out of the woodwork_ , I should expect."

Dorian snorts as Rolan flushes an odd shade of purple, looking from Dorian to Mahanon and back again, hopefully too confused to put the pieces together.

"I was just telling Dorian here that I'd like to review the cases regarding the Elvhen artifacts myself," Mahanon says, adopting a lofty tone that might fool anyone who doesn't know Mahanon well enough to see right through it. _Maybe those deportment lessons are taking after all_. "However, it's become clear to me that Dorian is very ill. I mean, look at him, he's all- he's all red."

Dorian bites his lip and tries to look somber and ailing, while Mahanon clears his throat to try to recover from that last sentence. Rolan blinks at the both of them quite a lot.

"I- erm, I did inquire after Pavus's health, my Lord," Rolan says, utterly wrong-footed. "Really only two minutes ago, actually, I still don't know how you-?"

"What I would appreciate is if you might release Dorian for the afternoon so he can see a healer," Mahanon says, straightening his shoulders. "And, um, Dorian, once that's done, I would be grateful if you could bring those case reports to me. Preferably within the hour."

"It might take longer than that to see... the healer, my Lord," Dorian says, his mouth twitching. 

"Um, I could bring those reports to you-" Rolan offers, only for Mahanon to wave him off.

"No need, but thank you. I trust Dorian will do so _as fast as possible_ ," Mahanon says, eyes narrowing. 

Dorian smiles, well aware that Mahanon's arousal can't be too comfortable to be standing there with, and offers him a little bow.

"Right, well, I'm- I'm going to go," Mahanon says, with a brusque little nod. "Thank you for your time, Rolan."

He walks away, nearly making it out of the alcove before Dorian calls after him.

"Oh, Lord Inquisitor," Dorian says, and the look Mahanon gives him over Rolan's shoulder is so strained and desperate that it's nearly impossible not to laugh. "That little problem of yours, you were hoping to fix - you promise you're not going to start working on it without me?"

Rolan looks back at Mahanon, utterly nonplussed, and Mahanon just sighs. 

"Of course not," he says. "That would be cheating, wouldn't it?"

Rolan turns to Dorian again, giving Mahanon just enough time to make a very rude gesture at Dorian before walking away. 

"Well, I- I suppose you're dismissed, then," Rolan says, scratching his head. "Best not to keep the Inquisitor waiting, yes?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Dorian says, gathering up the Elvhen artifact reports as Rolan leaves.

Stacks of parchment in hand, Dorian takes a moment to laugh to himself, shaking his head a little at how incredibly foolish this all is, before setting off from the library to find the Iron Bull. 

**Author's Note:**

> WELL NOW THAT WAS SOME PORN.
> 
> Also, in case it wasn't very obvious, Mahanon is like, the biggest goddamn sub to ever sub, so regarding whatever "punishment" Dorian and Bull come up with: he's gonna suffer, but he's gonna be happy about it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone following this series and leaving comments and kudos and even just reading it because it honestly makes me so happy that people like Mahanon because I love him a lot.


End file.
